


The Kind of Man You'd Like to Love

by milou407



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 06:40:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10530993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milou407/pseuds/milou407
Summary: Two dumb boys and the roundabout way they find each other.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'Color', by Todrick Hall. I have a lot of feelings about these ridiculous boys.

_Sixteen Years Ago_

The earliest memory Feuilly has is of sitting on his mother’s lap. It was his favorite place to be when he was small, he could curl into her warmth and hide his face in her hair, the same shade of fiery red as his. When he was sad, she would start counting his freckles, making up numbers and tickling him to make him giggle. Later, Feuilly would remember one encounter in particular, from when he was eight years old. His Da said he was getting too old to be sitting on his Mama’s lap, but Mama would just shush him.

“Mama?” he’d asked, “What does it mean to be a soulmate?”

“Why do you ask, sweetling?”

“A kid at school said his sister had found her soulmate. What does that mean?”

“Well, when you grow up big and turn eighteen, you’ll get a very special tattoo, just like mine.” Mama pulled the collar of her shirt aside, revealing block letters spelling ‘Dawid Nowak’ across her collarbone. “It’s called a soulmate tattoo, it’s how your Da and I found each other. Your tattoo will have the name of the girl or boy who will be your soulmate. Sometimes, your soulmate is someone that you fall in love with or marry, like your Da and me.”

Feuilly’s eyes got big and round, “Did you know you would love Da more than the whole wide world?”

She shook her head and laughed, “That’s not how it works, Feu. I knew he would be important to me, but I fell in love with him all on my own.”

“Oh.” Feuilly frowned and twisted his hands together. “Will I ever meet my soulmate?”

“I’m sure you will, honey. Anyone would be lucky to have you as their soulmate. And even if you don’t,” she tapped on his nose so he would meet her eyes, “You’ll have us, and your Da and brothers and I love you so very much.” 

Feuilly smiled up at her, gap-toothed and unabashed. “Maybe my soulmate will be a superhero! Or a pirate!”

She laughed again and cuddled him close, “Maybe, darling. Wouldn’t that be amazing?”

_Fourteen Years Ago_

When Feuilly was ten, his parents were killed in a mugging gone wrong. The criminal panicked and ran, taking nothing of value, but leaving no trail either.

Feuilly and his younger twin brothers were left with no one to care for them; all of their extended family was either dead or unreachable. They were placed in a group home to await foster placement. 

The only thing good about the group home was that it allowed the boys to stay together. Feuilly’s twin younger brothers, Liam and Patrick, were only four at the time, and were confused and completely terrified. Feuilly would sing to them and tell them stories when they couldn’t sleep, and every time they asked if Mama and Da were coming to get them soon, he would pretend the words didn’t make him want to cry. 

One day, a lady in a very nice suit came into the room they shared with six other boys and asked Liam and Patrick to come with her. Feuilly tried to go with them, but was gently told to wait his turn before they were hustled out of the room. Twenty painful minutes later, the woman came back and took him by the hand, leading him down the hall into the nicer rooms where grown-ups would come to talk to kids sometimes. In the room she took him to, there were two people kneeling on the carpet and playing with Li and Patrick. 

When they saw Feuilly enter with the lady, the couple stood with serious looks on their faces while Liam rushed to Feuilly to show him the toys the nice people had given to him, and Patrick tried to read to Feuilly out of the book he was given. Feuilly tried to listen to the conversation going on with the couple and the woman in the suit, but they were talking in low voices and he couldn’t make anything out. They kept throwing looks in his direction, so he focused his attention back on his brothers and tried to ignore whatever those looks meant. 

Eventually, the lady sighed heavily and seemed to agree to whatever it was that the couple was arguing, turning away with a tired, “I’ll have someone finish up the paperwork.” She took Feuilly’s hand and led him out of the room. He struggled a little bit, he wanted to stay with his brothers and make sure the grown-ups were nice to them, Patrick was quiet and shy and would get upset if they said mean things to him. Once they got back to his room, the woman sat him down on his bed and knelt in front of him. 

“Feuilly, I know you’re a smart boy, so I’m going to tell you exactly what’s going on and I need you to listen to me very carefully.”

Feuilly nodded.

“Okay. The people who are in with your brothers now are going to adopt them. They’re from America, and they are going to take your brothers to live with them.” Here, the lady looked away and sighed. “But, they’re only taking your brothers. You’re not going to be able to go with them.”

“They’re going to leave without me?” Feuilly’s lip began to tremble and his eyes started to burn, but he rubbed his fists against them because big boys didn’t cry, that’s what his Da says- _said._ “Was I not good enough? I can be better, Miss, I swear, and I can take care of Liam and Pat, I’m real good at that-“

“No, Feuilly, that’s not-“ She shook her head, “You’re a very good boy Feuilly. But they can only take two little boys home, and they wanted your brothers.”

“…What’s gonna happen to me?” Feuilly wanted to run out of the room, grab his brothers, and run away. He knew he wouldn’t get very far, but he wanted to try anyway.

“We’re going to find a home for you, I promise. A nice one, with good people.” The woman in the suit smiled at him sadly and ruffled his hair, which he hated. She stood and extended a hand to him again, “Do you want to say goodbye before they leave?”

“They’re going _now?_ ” Feuilly ran right past the woman and back into the nice room, where the couple was standing with a man signing papers and Liam and Patrick were sitting on the floor together. Feuilly ran to them and fell on the rug in front of them. He pulled them both to him, hugging them tightly. They were confused and tried to pull away, but he only held them closer. Eventually, someone pulled them apart, and that was the last time Feuilly ever saw his brothers.

Once he couldn’t see the car from the window anymore, Feuilly let the lady lead him back to his room. He got into his bed, even though it was early afternoon, and pulled the covers over his head. Only then did he let himself cry.

For the first time in his life, Feuilly felt utterly alone.

\-----

Two weeks later, Feuilly was moved into a foster home with an older couple, the Mercers. They took in foster children often, usually for the stipend granted by the government, never having less than two at a time. Feuilly was cared for, but he wasn’t given any kind of personal attention, and the other, more temporary children moved around too much for him to create lasting friendships.

He was surrounded by people, but he kept to himself. At least if he only counted himself, he couldn’t be let down. 

While with the Mercers, Feuilly went to the local school nearby. Known as one of the Mercer charity cases, he was pretty well shunned by the other children his age. The loneliness didn’t dissipate, and Feuilly got used to it. He was a quiet child and teenager, unless someone wanted to pick a fight. There were a few things you learned quickly in group homes, and how to take care of yourself was one of them. Tall and rangy, Feuilly could undoubtedly throw a punch better than the rest of them, and after a while, even the older kids knew to leave him alone. 

Which was fine. That’s exactly what he wanted. 

It took a while before he started to really believe it.

_Six Years Ago_

The night before his eighteenth birthday, Feuilly stood in front of his mirror in his boxer shorts, watching as the clock ticked over from 11:59 to 12:00. The second it did, he started running his eyes over all the skin he could see, waiting for the- _there._

On his left forearm, just above the wrist, the blurry shape of spidery, messy letters was forming. Feuilly clapped a hand over it and ran to grab the bandages from his first aid kit. He wrapped it around his forearm so the letters were completely obscured. Once it was covered, he sighed in relief. He had no wish to know who it was who was supposed to become his other half.

No use getting his hopes up that someone would want to stay.

He got into bed and turned out the light, laying in the dark for a while, running his fingertips over the bandage as if he could feel the name through it, burning its way into his skin.

_Five Years Ago_

If you had asked Feuilly what he would have expected to find once he got to University, his answer would not have been a ragtag group of revolutionaries and activists. 

He had found Les Amis the second semester of his second year, after meeting a founding member in his Classic Literature course. The student, a first-year, had been arguing with the teacher that all of the ‘classics’ they studied were from Western Europe in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, and how could that be an accurate representation of classical literature when it only included less than a quarter of the world’s writings?

When the professor spluttered a response, saying that the only real _civilized texts_ were produced in Europe first during the nineteenth century, Feuilly chimed in with the names of six recognized masterpieces of literature, none of which were produced in Europe or after 1800. 

After being tossed out of the class, Enjolras offered his hand to Feuilly and an invitation to come to one of their meetings sometime, he might find them interesting. Feuilly accepted the handshake and the invitation with grace, but never intended on actually attending the meetings. Between his two jobs and his schoolwork, he had very little time to himself, and he would prefer not to spend it arguing the definition of classical literature. 

During the handshake, Enjolras’ eyes were drawn to the black leather cuff Feuilly wore on his left wrist, and he said with a wry smile, “We’re talking about the consent issues which arise from fundamentalist soulmate theory tonight, if you have time to stop by.”

Feuilly raised an eyebrow. “I just might.”

\-----

Walking into the Musain, Feuilly was struck instantly by how open and warm it was, all gleaming wood floors and gold accents. It was slightly worn, the kind that comes from being well used, not abused.

Though he was technically very late for the meeting, locating Enjolras was not difficult. If his blond hair and bright red jacket hadn’t given him away, the audience he commanded would have. Enjolras was seemingly holding court to an audience of three tables, most of whom were listening, though some were talking quietly. Someone stood up to interject a point, and they went back and forth for a minute before there appeared to be a general consensus and the student sat back down.

It was the strangest thing Feuilly had ever seen.

After getting a coffee from the bar, he strode over and took a seat in one of the empty chairs. He nodded to the other occupants of the table and focused his attention back on Enjolras. He was talking now about the availability of cuffs and other obscurants in mental hospitals and state penitentiaries, and was quite passionate. Feuilly had to admit he was a gifted speaker; as an English student, Feuilly could appreciate the capacity for eloquence. 

When Enjolras seemed to finish with what he was saying, the rapt attention broke and each table descended into conversation. Enjolras sat to Feuilly’s left and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“You came! I thought you had abandoned us!”

“No, and I’m sorry I was late. The person who was supposed to take over my shift was an hour late, I would have been here much sooner otherwise.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m glad you gave us a chance.” Enjolras turned to the other two people seated at the table, gestured at Feuilly and said, “Feuilly, this is Combeferre and Courfeyrac. They’re my good friends, and good people.”

“The _best_ of people, really,” the one with the curly hair and blinding grin, Courfeyrac, said. His companion, Combeferre, retracted the arm that was slung across the back of his chair offered it to Feuilly, rolling his eyes. 

“Ignore him, he’s ridiculous,” a fond smile crossed Combeferre’s face, “We’ve heard a lot about you, Feuilly, you’re from Enjolras’ Literature class, correct?”

“Well, I wouldn’t be an English student without taking a few literature classes.” Something about the easy friendliness in the Musain brought a small smile to Feuilly’s expression. “But yes, I’m pretty sure that’s me.”

“Well, we don’t have to wonder why you’re here now.” Courfeyrac nodded to Feuilly’s cuff, “You’re clearly not a traditionalist.” He jumped, and sent a reproachful look at Combeferre, who had surreptitiously pinched him.

Feuilly chuckled, “Don’t worry, I’m not offended. No, I’m not a traditionalist, no, I haven’t found my soulmate, and no, I’m not looking. I’ve heard it all before.” 

Courfeyrac’s wicked grin stretched wider, “Oh, another one! _Grantaire!_ ” He called to another table while Enjolras heaved a sigh, “We’ve got another one for you. Feuilly’s going to join your anti-soulmates club!”

There was a sound of choking and a glass being set heavily on the table. “Another what?” A man hollered back while another cleaned up his spilled drink. He had thick, curly black hair and a nose which had clearly been broken before.

“Another member of your ‘Soulmates are Shit, and Here’s Why’ club!” Grantaire rolled his eyes and came over to stand by their table while Feuilly tried to protest.

“No, wait, that’s not-“

“Don’t bother, once Courf is set on an idea, you can’t get him to let go of it. I’m Grantaire, I’m guessing that you’re Feuilly?” Grantaire’s friend followed, trying to wipe the last of his drink off of his vibrantly purple button-down shirt, which happened to match his hair.

“Yes, that’s me. And I don’t have anything against soulmates, per se, I’m just not looking for mine. I’d rather find someone to be with the old-fashioned way, rather than following some words written on my skin.”

“Especially when those names are so subject to change,” Grantaire’s friend cut in. He gave a small wave, “I’m Bahorel. So, did you try to find them and give up, or have you never tried?”

Feuilly raised his eyebrow, (it seemed to be a trend among these friends of Enjolras) “That’s a rather personal question, don’t you think?”

Bahorel shrugged, “Maybe. It depends on your reason. I work at a center for those who have left or lost their soulmates. I’m pretty used to personal questions.”

“I’ve never looked. And those reasons _are_ personal, thank you. Why did you say the name is subject to change? I’ve never heard of that happening before.”

“It’s actually more common than you’d think.” Bahorel pulled up a chair, which looked comically small under his large frame. “We get a lot of people looking for counseling at the center when their partners’ names have been changed. People don’t like to publicize it because it kind of goes in the face of ‘One Name for Life’ groups.” He shrugged. “My dad’s name changed when I was thirteen. It sucked for a while, but he and my mom worked it out eventually.”

“That’s actually really interesting. I’d never thought of that.”

“Yes, thinking can be helpful. You should try it more often,” Bahorel winked at Feuilly’s halfhearted glare. “I’m off, I have a previous engagement with a bottle of wine and Netflix. It was good to meet you; I hope you’ll come back.” Bahorel stood up and called to Grantaire, “R! Are you coming?”

“Just about!” Breaking away from his conversation with Courfeyrac, Grantaire waved to Feuilly as they left. 

Feuilly turned back to the rest of the table and found Combeferre studying him with a curious look. “What?”

“Nothing. I’ve never seen Bahorel take to someone so quickly, it’s surprising.”

“Oh.” Feuilly studied the top of his coffee cup. “And how long have he and Grantaire been together?”

Combeferre stared at him for a second and then glanced back toward the door and said, “Who, R and-? Oh, no. They live together, they’re not. No.”

“Okay.” Turning back to enter the conversation Courfeyrac and Enjolras had just started, Feuilly felt as though a small weight had been lifted off of his chest. 

He decided to ignore the feeling. Nothing good could come from it.

_Four Years and Ten Months Ago_

A few weeks later, Feuilly was reading the text for his class on Gothic works when the door to the bookshop opened, the bell on it chiming quietly. From his place behind the desk, Feuilly could see the tall figure moving between the shelves, conspicuously trying to be inconspicuous. He sighed and went back to his book, but was only awarded a minute of respite before he heard a crash and the sound of books tumbling to the ground, accompanied by a quiet, yet venomous, “ _Fuck._ ”

Rolling his eyes as he got up and trying to suppress a smile, Feuilly walked out from behind the desk and into the rows of shelves, heading toward the source of the noise. It wasn’t hard to find, and he waited until he was only a few feet away before interjecting with a dry, “Do you need help with anything?”

Bahorel whirled around, semi panicked, holding two copies of _Fifty Shades of Gray_ from the collapsed display. “Shit, where did you come from? You need a bell, Jesus, I almost had a heart attack.”

Smirking, Feuilly raised an eyebrow, “Maybe you could take lessons. This is a bookshop, you know, not a demolition derby. Now, do you need help finding anything? Or have you already found what you wanted?”

Bahorel seemed to take notice of what he was holding, “What, this? Fuck, no. There’s much better written stuff out there. And-“ he winked at Feuilly while carefully stacking the books back in their proper position, “I’m not an amateur. I don’t need a how-to guide.”

“Great. Well, if you need me, I’ll be at the front desk.” Feuilly rolled his eyes and started to walk away. He only got about halfway back before he heard, “Hey, wait!” coming from behind him. Looking over his shoulder, Feuilly could see Bahorel walking quickly after him. “Yes?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, “If you’re looking for more displays to tackle, I’ll have to point you to another bookshop; I really don’t have time to clean up more messes today.”

“No, it was an accident, I- fuck.” Bahorel sighed. “Are you going to the meeting tonight?”

Feuilly blinked a few times in surprise, “I was planning on it, since I don’t have work after my shift here ends. Why?”

“Um. No reason. Well, actually, I wanted to know if you wanted to get dinner or something, since I know you probably haven’t eaten yet today, cause you’re a fucking stubborn ass, but forget it, it was probably a stupid idea.” Bahorel actually looked awkward, which had never happened in all the weeks since Feuilly had met him. He did a few quick calculations, he had already paid rent this month, and Bahorel was right, he _hadn’t_ eaten anything yet that day, so his budget could probably stand going out to eat.

“Sure, that sounds good.” Bahorel’s head whipped up, his eyes hopeful, “Did you have someplace in mind?”

“Yeah, actually. There’s this really good authentic Mexican place near here, it’s tiny but the tacos are the best I’ve ever had, and they do really good enchiladas too. You were complaining the other day about how you haven’t had really good tacos in a while, so I was thinking I could show it to you?”

The surprised blinking made a reappearance. “Yeah. Yes, that sounds like a great idea. I can’t believe you remembered that.”

“What can I say? All my ideas are great ideas.” The cocky smile Feuilly knew was back, all trace of uncertainty forgotten.

Feuilly snorted and turned back to the front desk, Bahorel ambling along behind him. When he took his seat, Bahorel pulled up a random stool and sat down next to him, pulling out his phone and fiddling with it. Within a few seconds, the tinny Candy Crush music began to play. Feuilly stared at him until Bahorel met his gaze.

“…Can I help you?”

“No, not really,” Bahorel answered with a smarmy grin.

“Are you just going to sit there until my shift ends? I’m trying to get some work done.”

“And I’m just sitting here quietly, minding my own damn business. You can do your work; I’m not doing anything to stop you.”

Feuilly glared at him again, and turned back to his reading. After a little while, he relaxed in the comfortable silence and was actually able to get through some of the reading. It was kind of…nice. Having someone around, instead of sitting in the shop alone, like he did most days. He wasn’t going to get used to it, but it wasn’t the worst thing in the world either.

_Three Years Ago_

“What the hell are you doing in my flat?”

Feuilly looked up from his place on Bahorel’s couch as the door slammed shut, taking in the tense line of Bahorel’s shoulders. (And they are nice, as shoulders go. When they’re not knotted with tension and Feuilly really needs to stop thinking about his friend’s muscles now.) 

“The fuck does it look like I’m doing?” Feuilly tossed him a beer from the six pack on the coffee table, which Bahorel managed to catch while squinting suspiciously at him.

“Looks like you’re taking up space on my couch, you ass.” He set the can on the counter before rolling up the sleeves of his button down and unbuttoning the collar. He reclaimed his beer and slumped onto the couch next to Feuilly, bringing his feet up into Feuilly’s lap. He snorted and pushed Bahorel’s feet off, but they manage to find their way back and he left them alone.

“I brought food.” Feuilly waved at the pizza gracing the table. “That should entitle me to couch space.” Bahorel cocked his head in consideration. 

“I’ll allow it. Let me ask another question, then: How the fuck did you get into my _locked_ apartment?” 

Feuilly smirked. “Got here as Grantaire was leaving. He let me in, provided I didn’t trash the place. I think he was rushing off to meet Enj for coffee. Is there something going on there that I don’t know about?”

“As if there’s anything you don’t know about. You’re like a ginger ninja.” Bahorel managed to avoid a vicious pinch by swinging his legs off of the couch. He laughed easily, “There might be something happening. I know Taire’s trying to take it slow, especially since he’s not sure if Enjolras has his name too.” He ran a hand over his face and sighed. “Stop changing the subject. Now we have the what and how, why are you on my couch at seven thirty in the evening? Don’t you have work today?”

Feuilly shrugged, staring at the top of the pizza box. “Yeah, but I took off. You’re always a bit off after you see your dad, figured you might not want to be alone.”

Bahorel watched him. “How the hell did you know I was meeting my dad today?”

“When you didn’t send me my ‘good morning meme’, I knew something had to be off. I asked around, Combeferre confirmed. If you didn’t want company, you wouldn’t have come home, since you knew Grantaire could have been here.” He shrugged again, a little defensively. “Figured I’d wait and see if you wanted to hang out or something. I can go-“ he started, before Bahorel cut him off.

“No! No, you’re-you’re fine.” He looked down at the can in his hands and took another drink. “And you’re right, as always. It was weird, it’s always weird.” He shot Feuilly a rueful smile, “He was showing me pictures of his other kids, like we were work friends, colleagues or something.”

Feuilly smiled back at him crookedly, watching the tension unspool from his shoulders. “That’s fuckin’ bizarre.”

“Right? And then he starts giving me shit about dropping out, not finishing law school. Like, who gives a fuck? I like working at the center, and they only require a Bachelor’s degree, why would I waste more money when I’m happy doing what I’m doing?”

“It wouldn’t make sense.” Feuilly reached for a piece of pizza. “So, did you stay for the whole dinner this time, or did you leave halfway through again?” He absently licked a smudge of sauce from his thumb.

Bahorel’s gaze seemed to get caught somewhere around his mouth, and Feuilly looked at him a little strangely before he shook it off. “Nah, I left. Wasn’t going to sit there and let him berate me for my choices when he didn’t want to stick around to see them.” Feuilly’s brow furrowed at the last, it’s not like him to sound so bitter, and Bahorel just sighed in response. “He and my mom split, but it didn’t mean he had to walk out of my life completely. But he did, and he’s reconnecting now because he thinks I might be useful, or he feels guilty, or whatever. He’s being shitty, doesn’t mean I have to put up with it.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t.” Feuilly elbowed him. “You don’t have to keep going. You don’t owe him anything, and if it upsets you this much, then it’s definitely not worth it.”

Bahorel looked at him for a little while with an unreadable expression on his face before snorting. “I must look pretty fucking pathetic for you to be this nice to me, man.”

“Fuck you, I’m always a ray of sunshine,” Feuilly deadpanned. At Bahorel’s smile, he broke into an answering grin. “C’mon. It’ll be alright. Will kicking my ass at Mario Kart make you feel any better?”

“Maybe.” Bahorel grabbed the controllers and turned the console on. “As long as we don’t play Rainbow Road. I still don’t know how you can suck so much ass at the regular levels, but always win that one.”

Feuilly smirked and leaned into Bahorel when he sat back down on the couch. “I guess you’ll never know.”

Yeah, he was missing work to play video games. But banishing the tension from Bahorel’s shoulders and bringing a smile to his face was well worth any missed hours.

_Eighteen Months Ago_  
Feuilly stepped out into the late April sunlight and smiled, loosening his tie while he took his phone out of his pocket. He pressed the button for the first contact listed (‘Asshole Extraordinare’) and unbuttoned his collar. There was only time for two rings before someone picked up.

“So? Did you get it, you ridiculous bastard?”

Feuilly felt himself grin as he scoffs into the phone, “Come on, was there ever any doubt?”

“I don’t know, man, you were the one who was over last night, whining about how you weren’t sure they would like your resume and what if they took offense that you hadn’t found your-“

“Okay, okay, I get it. Yes, you fucker, I got the job.” There’s a whoop from the phone and Feuilly’s smile stretched wider at Bahorel’s enthusiasm.

“I fucking knew it! I knew you’d get it, asshole. Mind, I still don’t know why they want you around children, but as long as you’ve got your own job so you’re not stealing my food all the time, that’s fine by me.”

“Fuck you, they’re teenagers, I’m not teaching elementary school. And you’re the one who’s always over eating my fucking pizza, stop trying to pin this on me.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright. Are you coming over? I’ll buy you a drink to celebrate. Or, you can drink my beer and it’ll be basically the same thing.”

“I’m on my way. I gotta call Enj though, I promised I’d set up a time for us to get coffee this week and let him know how it went.”

There’s silence for a minute. “You called me first?”

Feu took the phone away from his face and looked at it. “Yes? Of course I did? Why?” 

“I don’t know, I just figured you’d let Enjolras know first, I know you two are close.”

“You’re an idiot,” Feu murmured, “Yes, I called you first. You’re my best friend, why wouldn’t I?” 

Bahorel cleared his throat over the phone. “Sure, yeah, of course. Whatever, I’ll see you in a few minutes, fucker.”

“See you, Baz.” Feuilly frowned at his phone once they hung up before dialing Enjolras’ number.

_Now_

It’s ten o’clock and Feuilly is _drunk._ Ten in the evening, that is. He isn’t quite at the point to being drunk at ten in the morning. But he’s _very very_ drunk and looking for the other bottle of whiskey that he could have sworn was in the cabinet. He frowns and squints at the bottle he’s got, only a quarter of it left, and tries to remember if this was the one _from _the cabinet. Whatever.__

__Standing is getting to be too much effort, so he goes to sit on the couch. He loves the couch. He misses a little, landing on the floor. That’s fine. The floor works just as well as the couch. And he can put his bottle on it when he isn’t drinking from it. Couch can’t keep the bottle upright. Take that, couch. Maybe he can ask someone to bring him more alcohol. Not Enjolras, he’d probably give him his patented “I’m Not Mad, Just Disappointed” stare, but maybe Grantaire. Or Courfeyrac. Probably not-_ _

__Someone is suddenly pounding on his front door and Feuilly looks up quickly, wondering if he telepathically commanded someone to bring him another bottle of whiskey. It’s not out of the realm of possibility. He’s still staring at the door, trying to telepathically communicate again with the person behind it, when it opens to reveal Bahorel, looking worried and carrying a reusable grocery bag._ _

__“Alright, fucker, I don’t care if you’re sick, you’re eating this fucking soup I tried to make, even if it looks weird as shit and probably tastes about the – what the actual fuck, Feuilly, are you _drunk?_ ”_ _

__“Yes!” Feuilly nods his head vigorously and then immediately stops because that feels _terrible._ “Did you bring me more?” He pats the floor next to him in invitation. _ _

__Bahorel snorts and lowers himself down next to him. “No, I didn’t bring you more. I don’t think you need it.” He looks around, noting the other empty bottles strewn across the floor. “So, this is what happens when you call out sick? Here I was, actually worried about your sorry ass, and you were just at home on a fucking bender.”_ _

__Feuilly blows a raspberry at him. “That’s not very nice of you. I am definitely sick, and going to work right now would be a horrendous mistake, and a very bad example to set for my kiddies.”_ _

__“Even fucking smashed you have a better vocabulary than me,” Bahorel shakes his head and his hair falls in his face. Feuilly likes his hair. It’s pretty colors, and always looks so soft. Feuilly really wants to run his fingers through it, but that’s not really a ‘bro’ thing to do. Or so he’s been told. “Dude, you can touch my hair if you want, you know I don’t care.” Bahorel bites down on a smile, but his eyes still look worried. Gosh, he’s got pretty eyes too. “Thanks, man.”_ _

__“I am going to work on keeping my inside thoughts inside my head,” Feuilly enunciates very carefully. He takes another drink and lays his head on Baz’s shoulder. He whines a bit when Bahorel takes his bottle from him and pouts. “That’s not very nice of you. I wasn’t done with that.”_ _

__“I think you’re well past done with this, man.” Feu might be _really_ drunk, but it definitely feels like Bahorel rests his head on top of Feuilly’s. “What’s the deal? I’ve never seen you drink more than a couple beers, except for Bossuet’s birthday party last year. This isn’t like you.” _ _

__“Oh, but this is a very special occasion.” Feuilly gropes at the coffee table, where he finds a very worn and faded picture. He looks at the family in the photo for a second before handing it to Bahorel. “We’re celebrating their birthday.”_ _

__Baz’s eyes are wide. Feuilly knows because he’s staring at his face. _God,_ he’s got a nice face. Feuilly maybe wants to kiss it a lot. “Are these… is this your family? You have a family?” _ _

__“Nope. _Had._ Past tense.” Feuilly points at the twin boys sitting on their mother’s lap. “Patrick and Liam. They were adopted after Mama and Da died. It’s their eighteenth birthday today. I haven’t seen them in…” He looks at Bahorel in confusion. “How old am I?”_ _

__“You’re twenty-four, Feu,” Baz murmurs, biting at his lip and tracing a finger over the little, happy boy in the photo._ _

__Feuilly takes a few minutes to count on his fingers. There’s a reason he teaches English, okay, math is _hard._ “Fourteen years!” he says, triumphantly, “Yeah, haven’t seen ‘em in fourteen years. But they’re gonna graduate high school this year, if they haven’t already. They were smart, they were. Well, they were four, but y’know. You could tell.”_ _

__“I’m sure they are. You ever think about getting in contact? I’m sure they’d want to hear from you, no matter what.” Feuilly shakes his head before Bahorel finishes speaking. They wouldn’t want him anyway, what could he offer them, living on his own as a school teacher in Paris? They were probably better off without him, just like his soulmate is. He’d just be a burden, and they’d leave eventually. Why wouldn’t they? The shoulder he’s resting his cheek on tenses, and Feuilly frowns and tried to remember whether he was still focusing on keeping his private thoughts private. He can’t remember._ _

__“They’d be lucky to have you, Feuilly,” Bahorel says quietly, but fervently. “Anyone would be lucky to have you in their life, you _can’t_ doubt that.”_ _

__Feu pets at the nice pec beneath his hand. It’s a good pec. “You’re too nice to me. My best friend. Why aren’t you looking for your soulmate, Baz, Bazzy, my Bazza? I’m sure they could make you really, _really_ happy.” _ _

__Baz snorts a little. “I’m already happy, man. And my soulmate isn’t looking for me either. I’m good.”_ _

__“Well, that’s dumb.” Feu pouts up at him, “You’re wonderful, and perfect. And a little bit of an asshole, but that’s just your personality, not your fault. Someone would be lucky to have you, why aren’t they looking? How do you know?”_ _

__“Yeah, this is _definitely_ not a conversation for when you’re drunk.” Bahorel sighs and stands, dragging Feuilly with him, supporting him on his shoulder. “C’mon, you overgrown toddler. It’s bedtime.”_ _

__“Yaaaaaaay,” Feuilly murmurs into Baz’s muscled arm. “Bed sounds really good right now.” Bahorel drops him on the bed and he squeaks a little before burrowing under the duvet. Fuck it, he’s not changing. He’s already in sweatpants, there’s no way he’s coordinated enough to change right now. He feels something suspiciously like gentle fingers running through his hair before they’re moving away. His hand shoots out from under his mountain of blankets (He gets cold, okay?) to grab at Bahorel’s, and he half turns to make eye contact with Baz’s surprised face._ _

__“Stay? Please?” He might be drunk, but he’s also deadly serious. He can see Bahorel swallow before squeezing his fingers._ _

__“Dude, you don’t want this. And you’re drunk. _Really_ drunk.”_ _

__“Just to sleep. Please.” Feuilly tugs a little, and Baz leans forward, bracing a knee on the bed. “I don’t like being alone. I can pretend that I do, but I really don’t. I want you to stay, Bahorel, please.”_ _

__Feuilly feels Bahorel hesitate before he also slides under the blankets. They aren’t close enough to touch, but Feu can feel Baz’s warmth on his back._ _

__“Mmm. You’re warm. It’s nice.” He rolls over and presses a kiss to Baz’s cheek. “I love you.”_ _

__Feu then sighs and relaxes into the mattress, and falls asleep quickly._ _

__(He can’t have known that Bahorel had a much more difficult time.)_ _

__\---------_ _

__Sometime in the early morning, Feuilly wakes with a start, an unfamiliar arm winding around his waist. He’s briefly confused before he turns and sees Baz, gently snoring next to him. Comforted, Feuilly burrows closer and falls back asleep._ _

__\--------_ _

__Later that same morning, Feuilly wakes again, much more calmly. His head is pounding a moderate amount and his tongue is only mostly fuzzy. He looks over and sees Bahorel still asleep, smiling a little before moving out of Baz’s grasp and climbing out of bed._ _

__He goes to brush his teeth and take some paracetamol, then puts some coffee on and drinks a glass of water. Feu grimaces at the bottles strewn about before starting to clean up. Definitely not the worst night he’d had, but not one of the better ones either. The coffee machine clicks and he pours himself a cup, leaning against the counter to drink it, not quite ready for food yet._ _

__He’s still got his face stuck in his coffee when he hears a shuffling coming from the bedroom and Baz comes out, dressed just in a pair of Feuilly’s sweatpants, too short and a bit tight. Feuilly turns away in order to not get caught staring, and fixes Bahorel a cup of coffee how he likes. Baz hums in thanks when he takes it, settling next to Feuilly against the counter._ _

__“You feeling okay?” Bahorel asks quietly, glancing over at Feu._ _

__Feu shrugs in response. “Could be better, but not terrible. Thanks for, you know.”_ _

__“Don’t mention it.” There’s silence for a minute. “Do you want to talk about it?”_ _

__“Not even a little.” They both take a sip of their coffee. Feuilly moves to the fridge to get out the ingredients for pancakes, cause it’s a pancake kind of day._ _

__“Did you mean it?” The question is small and hesitant in a way that Bahorel isn’t very often, and it makes Feuilly turn back around, milk and eggs in his hands._ _

__“What are you talking about?”_ _

__“Last night, when we were in – in bed.” Baz swallows and looks down at his coffee. Feu has a sense of dawning realization, and he remembers exactly what Baz is talking about before he says it. “You said you loved me? And I didn’t… If it’s not true, or like. If it’s a friend thing. That’s fine.”_ _

__“No,” Feu interjects. His throat is tight, but he also can’t stand by and let Bahorel think that his confession was anything less than exactly what it was. “No. I meant it. Still do.”_ _

__Bahorel’s jaw is dropped, and he’s looking at Feuilly with a mix of awe and disbelief. “You can’t. You don’t. Are you serious? _Why?_ ”_ _

__Feu snorts. “Do I really need a reason?” He puts the milk and eggs down, he’s worried that he’s gonna drop them, his hands are shaking so badly. “You’re an asshole sometimes, but you’re _my_ asshole. I’ve been in love with you for…years, probably.”_ _

__“That’s – absolutely fucking not, are you kidding me, Feuilly?” Baz looks _angry_ now, and that’s a complete slap in the face. “I’ve been fucking gone over you since we met and you’re just telling me now?” He shakes his head. “No, it doesn’t matter. ‘Cause you’ve got a soulmate somewhere, and they deserve you. They deserve to get to know you, to get the chance, all of your self-sacrificing bullshit aside. You can’t take that from them, not for me.”_ _

__“Fuck you, you don’t get to tell me what I should do,” Feuilly steps forward, almost toe to toe with Bahorel. “You can’t just order me to love someone else, that’s not how it fucking works. You think anyone else would come over when I’ve had a shitty day, no questions asked? Or listen to me bitch about teaching assessments and thematic elements for literally hours? I can’t trust my soulmate not to leave when I’m fucked out of my mind on whiskey and self-pity, but you know who I do trust? You.”_ _

__“You can’t say that Feuilly, you haven’t met them yet, you don’t know-“_ _

__“Oh fuck _off_ already.” Feuilly starts undoing the buckles on his cuff, and Bahorel’s eyes go even wider._ _

__“What the fuck are you doing?”_ _

__“I’m learning the name of who I’m giving up on.” Feu makes very direct eye contact. “If you don’t feel the same way, or you don’t want to be with me, that’s fine. I’ll deal. But you don’t get to put the needs of someone we’ve never met before you and me. Whoever this is, if I don’t know them by now, they’re not worth it. They’re not worth giving up on you, the best thing that’s ever fucking happened to me. And that’s my choice. Not yours.”_ _

__Baz is finally speechless, and they both watch as Feuilly pulls off the cuff, revealing a very familiar scrawl, the handwriting completely awful, spiky and cramped._ _

___Henri Bahorel_ _ _

__Feuilly’s eyes go even wider and he meets Baz’s stricken gaze. “…You? How – do you-“_ _

__Before he even forms the question, Bahorel is pushing the waistband of his borrowed sweatpants down, revealing the top of his thigh, the curve where it meets his hip. Tucked there, in tight, neat cursive are two words:_ _

___Feuilly Nowak_ _ _

__Feuilly’s breath leaves him, he can’t draw in enough air and he’s drowning but it doesn’t matter because _that’s his name._ _ _

__“You knew?” he eventually says in a tiny voice, “You knew for all this time and you never told me?”_ _

__“I thought you had a different name.” Baz’s voice is just as small, and that’s the only think keeping Feuilly from punching him. “I thought you had looked and had a different name, it happens sometimes and I wasn’t gonna push myself on you if you didn’t want-“_ _

__“Oh, shut the fuck up.” Feu knots his hand in Baz’s hair and pulls him into a biting kiss, full of years of want and ache. Bahorel lets out a little helpless noise and one arm goes around Feuilly’s waist, the other on the side of his neck as he kisses back just as fiercely._ _

__They pull back a minute later, breathing harshly, Feu’s fingers sliding through purple strands. Bahorel catches his arm and looks at the signature fixed there, like he still can’t believe that it’s real. He presses a kiss to it, ever so gentle, and Feuilly shivers at the sensation it causes. Baz notices (of course he does, the asshole) and smirks._ _

__“Yeah? Feel good?” He does it again, nipping at the sensitive skin, and Feuilly groans._ _

__“You’re a jerk.” At Baz’s answering grin, Feuilly puts a hand in his pants and runs his thumb over his own handwriting, making Bahorel jerk and swear._ _

__“Alright, fuck, you proved your point.”_ _

__“Good.” Feuilly kisses him again, sweeter this time. “I love you.”_ _

__Bahorel’s grin melts into something so sincere, it makes Feuilly want to bundle him in blankets and keep him forever. “I love you too. God, Feuilly, I love you so fucking much.”_ _

__Feu’s sure his grin is completely sappy but he’s currently finding exactly zero fucks to give about it. He found his _soulmate,_ and even better, it’s _Bahorel._ He gets to keep him, this beautiful, wonderful man that he already loves. He’s not alone, he’s not going to be alone. Not anymore. _ _

__He sighs happily and presses against Baz again, kissing him like they have all the time in the world. Like it’s the first day of the rest of their lives, or whatever the fucking saying is._ _

__They do have all the time in the world. Neither of them is going anywhere._ _

__And it’s all Feuilly has ever wanted._ _

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! Come yell at me on tumblr


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